A Quick Stopover on Baker Street
by sessha-chan
Summary: John and Sherlock are surprised by a trio of unexpected visitors. The doctor is confused. Rory is worried. Amy fangirls a bit. John wants to know what is going on. Sherlock is intrigued. Another quick drabble. unBETAed.


A/N: Two of my fav shows, my fav fandoms. Amy and Rory, you shall be missed. And, of course, I Believe in Sherlock Holmes, and I look forward to s3, Empty House. :D

**A Quick Stopover on Baker Street**

Sessha-chan

"London!" cried the fashion-blind professor (that's what John thought he looked like) as he stepped out of the police box. The stranger stopped short and frowned. "Hang on. What are we doing inside?"

"Doctor?" called a female voice - Scottish by accent. A pretty redhead burst out of the box as well and collided with the - John hesitated - _doctor's_ arm. "Where are we?"

"I don't know," the 'doctor' admitted. He turned to John and Sherlock. "Excuse me, I'm The Doctor and this is Amy Pond. Rory's around here somewhere," he waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "Where _are_ we?" he wondered. "Wait! Don't answer that!" He rushed to the window and looked out at the street, then up to the sky. Then he rushed down the stairs and threw himself out onto the street. Confused, John watched (from halfway down the stairs) as the strange man took a deep breath, licked a finger, stick it in the air for a moment, then stuck the finger in his mouth. he wandered back up to where Amy, now with Rory (John presumed), was waiting.

"Well?" she asked with obvious impatience.

"I was right. London. Twenty-first century. Am I right?" he turned to Sherlock and John, obviously expecting an answer.

"Are you high?" John asked. The doctor looked offended.

"No. Of course not!" he protested, physically recoiling.

"How did you get that box in our flat?" John demanded. He looked over at Sherlock, who was uncharacteristically silent. Sherlock was watching the strange interlopers with what John had privately dubbed his 'deducing face.'

"What box?" asked the madman innocently. John just glared. Amy rolled her eyes and Rory just looked nervous. The madman spun around and exclaimed. "Oh! You mean _this_ box! This isn't a box. It's my ship. Isn't she beautiful." He beamed.

John looked at the blue box. "It's an antique police call box," he noted.

"Yes," nodded the intruder.

John just stared at them, feeling just a little off kilter and not liking it one bit.

"Doctor," Amy verbally prodded.

"Right. So, London, twenty-first century. Sorry, I didn't catch your names," he looked at John and Sherlock expectantly.

"Sherlock Holmes," said the detective.

"John Watson," said John, glancing briefly at his flatmate.

The reaction that all three interlopers had was, in John's opinion, a touch over the top.

"No way!" Amy exclaimed.

"Sherlock Holmes?" Rory followed up quickly.

"Hang on," the madman frowned. "You're Sherlock Holmes and you're John Watson. Consulting Detective, and doctor, formerly of the British Army?"

"That's right," John confirmed warily.

"That's not right."

"Doctor," Rory stepped forward. "_What_ are they doing here? I thought..."

"You probably thought right, Rory. This _is _out of place." John gave up trying to name the strange man in his mind and just settled on calling him 'professor' for lack of a proper given name.

"Wait," Amy said, "so, does that mean that this is 221b Baker Street? Am I really standing in 221b Baker Street with Sherlock Holmes?"

"It would seem to be so," the nutty professor examined Sherlock as closely as Sherlock was examining him. "This is brilliant. Totally out of place and wrong, but so brilliant."

"Time travelling alien?" Sherlock asked. John frowned.

"Don't be silly Sherlock, aliens don't exist."

"Of course they do, John," Sherlock asserted. "One's standing directly in front of you right now. Am I correct?"

The professor grinned and adjusted his bowtie. "Sharpest tack in the box, that's you, Sherlock Holmes. Nothing gets by you, does it? Yes, you got me. Time travelling alien, that's me. As I said, I'm called The Doctor. Amy, if you want an autograph, now would be a good time to ask. We have an appointment with a fish, and we simply _cannot_ be late!"

Amy darted back into the police box.

"What do you mean by 'this is wrong?'" Sherlock asked.

Rory answered. "Sherlock Holmes was supposed to be in, what, 1800's? Doctor, is that right?"

"Exactly. Late 1800's, early 1900's. You being _here_ in the twenty-first century is not how it was supposed to be." The Doctor frowned. "How did that happen?" He pulled out a strange cylindrical device and waved it in front of both John and Sherlock. He flicked his wrist then studied the device. "Readings say that you're native to this timeframe. Strange."

Amy erupted from the police box, a pad of paper and a pen in hand. She eagerly presented them to Sherlock, who signed his name with dismissive disinterest. Then she turned to John and begged his autograph as well. Confused, John signed his name on the paper as well. She grinned and pressed the pad of paper to her bosom, practically skipping back to Rory's side to show off her newest prize.

"Oh! I figured it out!" The Doctor exclaimed. He looked both triumphant and chagrined.

"What is it?" Rory asked.

"Big Bang Two," The Doctor said, as if that cryptic phrase explained everything. "You can get most of the pieces back in the right order, but some are bound to land all willy-nilly. My bad."

"You managed to displace _Sherlock Holmes_?" Rory groaned.

"Wait," Amy said, eyes wide. "Does this mean that the books won't get written?"

"Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey" The Doctor waved a hand and grinned. "I'd bet Doctor Watson here is writing everything down though, aren't you, Watson?"

Sherlock scoffed. John nodded. "Yeah, I got a blog. You haven't heard of it? It's very popular."

"No, but I shall be sure to look it up when I get the chance," The Doctor assured. "Come along Ponds. Time to see a fish about a man!" He herded his companions back into the police box.

John and Sherlock watched the blue, brand new (looking), antique police box started juddering, groaning and wheezing, the fading out of sight in rolling waves.

Finally, John turned to Sherlock. "_What_ was _that_, Sherlock?"


End file.
